


Purple Rain

by mannybothans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 3-5K words, Arguments, Lip-Syncing, Mention of loss of virginity, Mention of sexual acts, Musical inspiration, No Smut, Prank Wars, Rated T for swearing, dean hates being made fun of, dean wears sequins, dean winchester gets weird, flabbergasted is a great word, prince - Freeform, pseudo-crack!fic, reader doesn't care for taylor swift, ribbing, the artist formerly known as, there's a lot of bitch face going on, younger reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannybothans/pseuds/mannybothans
Summary: you and the boys enjoy some downtime in the bunker by talking musicDean Winchester doesn't see why Prince is such a big deal - and you team up with Sam to show him the light.





	Purple Rain

“Okay, The Beatles were great and all,” you paused as a steady glare from Dean burned into you. “But they built upon what people of color had already been doing. They just… popularized and made rock-and-roll acceptable for white people to listen to, same as Elvis – minus the hip thrusts.”

“The Beatles ‘were great and all,’” Dean exclaimed, standing up from his seat. “Oh, hell no. You did NOT just insult one of the greatest bands of all time.”

“She didn’t, Dean,” Sam chimed in. He’d been quiet for most of the music argument thus far; to him, it was mindless entertainment watching the two of you argue. “She actually agreed with you.”

You held up your beer in a gesture of solidarity to Sam, who sat diagonally across the table from you. With your feet up on the table and leaning back in your chair, you felt as at-home as ever. Dean sat – well, stood – at the next table over on the same side as you. The older Winchester just huffed and stormed over to the mini-fridge and yanked out the last beer. “Some brother you are,” he said, shooting Sam a withering glance. Sam just grinned and sipped his beer.

“I like The Beatles as much as the next person, Dean, I swear, even though I’m not an old geezer like you. I think they’re awesome and George was a total babe,” again you glanced at Sam for confirmation and he shrugged, nodding. “But there were better, more revolutionary artists. Take Led Zeppelin, for example.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but promptly closed it as he sat back down. His jaw ticked as he tried to think of a counterpoint. You grinned inwardly, knowing he would _never_ argue about how much Led Zeppelin did for music or what kind of impact it had on his life. “Alright, fine. But without The Beatles, Led Zeppelin might not have succeeded.”

“Fair,” you agreed, although you had your doubts. The shape the world was in the 1960’s and 1970’s was full-on Revolutionary Mode and people were ready for new things, especially if they were high. Not to mention some of The Beatles’ more obscure songs were trippy LSD-influenced adventures.

“You can’t forget Prince,” Sam added. “If we’re talking about timeless influencers.” Your eyes went wide and a grin accompanied the mildly shocked look on your face when you turned to him. You set your beer down.

“Sam. Be still my heart.” Your right hand settled lightly on your chest while you mimed a swoon. “Now _he_ was a revolutionary.”

“What? That ‘1999’ dude who wore a lot of frills and purple? Changed his name to a symbol? Oh, yeah, _truly_ original.” Dean rolled his eyes and your pleasantly surprised face turned into one of dismay and disappointment.

“That’s not all he was known for, Dean,” Sam sighed. _Oh, this was gonna be interesting._ “Sure, he became a world-recognized superstar for ‘1999,’ but he was a musical genius and transformed the music scene of the 1980’s and early 90’s. Tim Burton even recruited him to write songs for ‘Batman.’”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t bring ‘Batman’ into this. Besides, you could say the same about Madonna.”

“Not like Prince!” You sat up and kicked your legs to the floor. “Talk about someone not having a career if it weren’t for a predecessor – Madonna wouldn’t have _existed on anyone’s radar_ if it weren’t for Prince! Britney Spears, Beyonce, _Justin Timberlake_ ,”

“Sinead O’Connor,” Sam added.

“Sinead O’Connor! Lenny Kravitz! Cyndi Lauper! Andre 3000! Red Hot Chili Peppers!” You ticked all of them off your fingers, your voice getting heated and passionate about Dean’s mistake in dismissing Prince as a purple-clad one-hit wonder.

“Oh, come on, how did he influence Sinead O’Connor? Bald chick from Ireland couldn’t poss,”

“HE WROTE THE SONG,” you cried out, throwing your hands up in the air. “ _Nothing Compares_ was _written by Prince_ , you uncultured heathen!”

Dean frowned and glanced to Sam, who confirmed everything you said with a slow nod. If anyone knew trivial bullshit, it was Sam.

“Fine, so he influenced a bunch of crappy pop artists with what? Four or five hits, tops.”

You _guffawed_ at that, covering your mouth in disbelief at his ignorance. _Oh, he gon’ learn TUH-DAY_.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice laced with warning. Dean mouthed ‘what?!’ at his brother, shaking his head.

“More like dozens of hits. _And_ he wrote songs about the AIDS epidemic in a time when nobody would even talk about it. He wrote politically-minded, socially-conscious songs, not just about partying and sex. Prince was _woke_ before that was even a _thing_. When he changed his name to a symbol? That was a publicity stunt, yes, but it was also because he felt like his record label was essentially stealing his identity. He wasn’t afraid to speak up and out about anything and everything.”

“Besides, even today, Prince is pervasive. His influence is just about everywhere – and everyone’s heard of him.” Sam added to your list of Prince Facts™, nodding matter-of-factly.

“Not to mention I totally lost my virginity to _Darling Nikki_ ,” you announced proudly. Sam’s face flushed a little bit at that and you grinned cheekily.

“The Foo Fighters Song?” You gave Dean your most intense side-eye glare. “Don’t tell me he wrote that, too,” he complained.

“He not only wrote it, but performed it, first. The Foo Fighters covered it,” Sam answered.

“So without Prince, Nirvana wouldn’t have been a thing!” Dean said, trying to be dramatic and sarcastic.

“Probably,” Sam said.

“What about you, Sam? Which Prince song holds a fond memory in your heart?” You prodded. With a reaction like the one he had to your virginity statement, you _knew_ he’d thought of a song that created a specific feeling in him.

“Uh, I mean, they, they’re all good,” he stammered, only cementing your suspicions.

“C’mon, Saaaaaam, spill the beans!” It was like Dean was invisible, now. Your only focus was Sam’s reddening face and sudden shyness.

“I, uh,” His eyes lowered to the table. “I might have done some things to _Jack U Off_.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at that. “Kinky.” Sam blushed harder than you could remember in a very long time and it was kinda sweet.

“What the fuck kind of song,” Dean began, staring at his brother hard enough to boil an egg.

“Judgment-free zone!” You called out, leaning towards Dean. “Don’t be an ass! While we’re sharing,” you said and Sam’s eyes lifted to meet yours briefly. “I definitely fantasized plenty of times to _Head_.” A shrug relayed the _no big deal_ message loud and clear and Sam visibly relaxed.

“Okay, now you’re just making shit up,” Dean groaned.

You laughed and pulled your laptop over to you, opening a search engine. You typed in “Prince+discography” and then turned it towards Dean. “Read ‘em and weep,” you gloated. He hesitated, but he got up and sat in the chair directly next to yours in order to examine the list better.

“Like I said, he was a musical genius and played a lot of his own instruments on his songs. Drums, guitar, bass, keyboard, everything.” You stated, as if it would change Dean’s mind. The library was quiet for several long seconds, much to your surprise. Sam downed his beer, his face finally having gone back to a normal color.

“Jesus, he’s got like forty fucking albums,” Dean muttered, scrolling slowly. “ _Ronnie, Talk to Russia_? What, so he was advocating the end of the Cold War?”

“Exactly.”

“Huh.”

You grinned over at Sam as if to say, _Mission accomplished_. He grinned back at you.

“I’m gonna get some more beer. You want?” Sam asked, standing up and looking pointedly at you.

“Sure, thanks,” you replied. Dean’s facial expressions were pure entertainment as he silently read the song titles, his lips forming the words, eyebrows arching and furrowing in a dance on his forehead. How he ever won at poker, you had no idea. The guy had so many tells. He finally finished skimming the list and shrugged, pushing your laptop back towards you.

“Well, that was something.”

“I bet you have a song, too,” you said, still carefully watching Dean’s facial expressions.

“Pfft. Whatever. I never listened to Prince.”

“Mmhmm. What is it, Dean? _When Doves Cry_? _Little Red Corvette?_ Ohh, I bet it’s _Purple Rain_ ,” you teased. You were literally about to drop the subject. Except Dean’s tongue flicked out along his bottom lip, which, if you knew anything about Dean Winchester, you knew that to be a nervous tick. “Ooohh shit,” you crowed, pumping your fist in the air to gloat.

“What happened?” Sam asked, handing you a beer before he took his seat. He took in Dean’s exasperated expression and your triumphant ear-to-ear grin. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing!” “Dean totally has a song!” You exclaimed at the same time. Dean shook his head and ran a hand down his face while you chuckled. The entire thing was so amusing, and you were more than a little tipsy, that it didn’t surprise you when your head lolled back and you let out an honest-to-God laugh. Sam looked from you to his brother and back again, trying to figure out who’d catch him up, first, as he sipped his beer.

“ _Purple Rain_ is a masterpiece, okay?!” Dean admitted defensively and threw up his hands; Sam spit his beer out. Thankfully, he had the sense to aim it away from you and your laptop. You laughed again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes while your entire body shook with mirth. “What’s so funny?!”

“Why wouldn’t you just say that, Dean? It’s not a big deal!” Sam exclaimed, wiping his chin and chuckling.

“Uhhhh, my name’s Dean Winchester and I can’t like anything but hair metal and 90’s grunge,” you mocked him, lowering your voice an octave. Sam cackled and then covered his mouth with his hand, ducking his head as Dean shot daggers at him with his eyes. “And Taylor Swift,” you added. Dean’s seething _I Will Kill You Dead_ gaze bored into Sam, who lurched forward, still laughing.

“You told her?!”

“C’mon man! It was hilarious!” Sam argued.

You finally managed to get yourself under control and swallowed, forcing your face to be serious. “Dean,” you began in your regular voice while putting your hand on his shoulder. “It’s not Sam’s fault you have shitty taste in music.”

Sam crowed with laughter, almost falling backwards out of his chair as his entire body lurched back.

Dean shoved your hand off of him and you pursed your lips to fight another fit of laughter. “No, seriously, Dean,” you said, placing your hand on his forearm. His forearm that was flexed and veiny and distracting. Clearing your throat, you continued. “There’s nothing wrong with liking Taylor Swift.”

Dean relaxed a little bit – a mistake.

“Except that she’s a shitty person who makes shitty music,” you finished and could no longer contain your laughter at how his face went from calm to angry in a split second.

“I thought this was a judgment-free zone, jerks,” he muttered and stood up so fast, his chair got knocked over. “It was just the one song!” He tried to justify himself, which was admittedly endearing, as he picked up his chair. You and Sam were winding down from your laughter fest, finally, but Dean marched out of the library, anyway.

When he was gone, you looked at Sam, who was grinning like an idiot and catching his breath. “I think we huwt his feewings,” you said, trying to look serious.

“Ssstttop,” Sam sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. “Christ, I’m gonna pull something from laughing.”

“Heh,” you sat back, kicked your feet back up onto the table, and drank your beer. The quietness was companionable, enjoyable, and relaxing. You all needed a damn good laugh; it was unfortunate that it came at Dean’s expense. You were almost certain he was already scheming ways to get back at the both of you and, short of fucking with your toiletries, you didn’t really mind. A long, contented sigh left your mouth. “This is nice.”

“Mm,” Sam agreed. “I can’t remember the last time we all just _had fun_ like this.”

“Tempe,” you said, closing your eyes. “Remember? The whole thing was a bust and we sat in our motel room and got drunk, watching horrible _Lifetime_ movies and MST3K-ing the shit out of ‘em.”

“You were pretty quick to the draw on some of those one-liners,” Sam commended and you could hear the smile in his voice. In your mind, you replayed the moment when you drawled something so absurd, so awful in response to a scene that should’ve been serious and solemn, that Dean and Sam’s jaws _hit the floor_ before Dean threw his hands up and Sam laughed so hard he fell off the bed.

“Yeah, I’ve got a really bad brain sometimes,” you mused, not at all hiding the self-satisfied smirk on your face. “Worth it, though.”

Sam sighed deeply and you opened your eyes, tilting your head a little. That wasn’t his _I’m content and happy_ sigh. It was his, _I’m withholding something_ sigh. “Sup, Sam?”

“Hm? Nothing.” You raised an eyebrow in response. “Alright fine. It’s just, I don’t think we tell you how much we appreciate you sticking around. We’re assholes and total jerks to work with but somehow, you just make it seem complete.”

“Well, someone’s gotta be the beauty of the operation, am I right?” You winked at him, drastically tossed your second-day hair that was in bad need of a trim, and grinned.

Sam snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes. “So if you’re the beauty, then that makes me the brains and Dean the brawn?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded.

“You know, I’m more than just my smarts, Y/N,” Sam fake-protested. “I wish people wouldn’t objectify my mind like that.”

You snorted back at him as your shoulders shook with laughter. “Dweeb,” you said, lovingly.

“Dork,” he said back, just as lovingly. He finished his beer and tapped the arm of his chair. “I’m gonna hit the hay. Today was fun.”

“It was,” you agreed.

“You turnin’ in?”

“Nah, I’m not tired yet. Besides, I’m all sweaty from laughing at Dean,” you made a face and lifted your arms to “air out” your pits.

“Kay.” Sam rounded the table, collected your empty beer, and bent over to press a kiss into your hair. “Have fun on Reddit. Don’t stay up all night.”

“Daaaaaaad,” you responded light-heartedly.

“Ew, God no, just, ew,” Sam chuckled and you snickered. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Sam,” you waved at him as he left the library and pulled your laptop back in front of you. “Note to self – do not call Sam ‘daddy.’” You mumbled, grinning to yourself. An hour or so went by as you skimmed memes and social media, briefly looking at your weird news websites in the off-chance a case had popped up. A sudden yawn escaped you and you decided it was time to go to bed.

You put your laptop to sleep and stretched, then stood up.

That was when you heard the quiet, familiar guitar notes from somewhere nearby. You wondered if Sam was fucking with Dean, but the sound got louder, moving towards you.

“Sam?” You called out. The lamps were all still on in the library, but the rest of the bunker had been doused in quiet darkness since Sam went to bed. The drum kicked in and the song only got louder as Prince’s velvet-smooth vocals met your ears. “Sam is that you?” You tried again, smiling confusedly and waiting for him to appear in the entryway.

 _I never meant to cause you any sorrow,_  
I never meant to cause you any pain,  
I only wanted one time to see you laughing.  
I only wanted to see you  
Laughing in the purple rain.

Dean rounded the corner, holding up his phone, and it took everything within you not to _scream_ at how _utterly absurd_ he looked.

In the time he’d been gone, he’d apparently gone rifling through your things and also storage, where old Halloween costumes and whatnot went to die. Dean had on a _comically huge_ pair of sunglasses, he’d mussed his hair to stick up every which way, then tied a sash around his head. A hot pink feather boa was wrapped loosely around his neck, and just when you thought he couldn’t look any more preposterous, your eyes kept traveling down. He’d gotten his hands on one of your sequin crop tops, put a plain black button-up over it, leaving it unbuttoned, and then put on his only pair of fitted black jeans – that _you_ had talked him into buying. You half-expected him to somehow be wearing high-heeled boots to top it off, but thankfully, he was bare foot. And that was the _least_ outrageous thing about him.

You clapped both hands over your gaping mouth, stifling a cry of bewilderment at the scene in front of you. Surely, you’d passed out at your computer and this was just an insane dream you were having. Where Dean was lip-synching to _Purple Rain_ and wearing _your_ clothes.

“Holy fucking shit,” you exhaled into your hands as he stepped towards you on-beat. The first chorus had come and gone while you stood looking on in shock; he was now mouthing along to the second verse. _And he knew every goddamn word_. You knew there was no way he was looking at you behind those sunglasses because if he could see your face, he’d surely lose his shit.

 _Honey, I know, I know,_  
I know times are changing  
It’s time we all reach out  
For something new,  
That means you, too

Dean reached out towards you, his entire right leg keeping time as he lifted and lowered his heel dramatically. His fingers curled up and made a fist as he went into the next verse, where he fist-pumped into the chorus and then played air guitar while lip-synching and _honestly what the actual fuck was happening_.

You finally lowered your hands when Dean circled around you, playing air guitar during the bridge, and pressed his back against yours, knocking you slightly off-balance. You made a noise of surprise as you caught yourself and then you heard Dean move chairs behind you. When you turned around, he was on the table, still playing air guitar, and _really fucking into it_. Almost shaking with the willpower it took you to not scream at him to stop this fever dream, you dropped back into your chair.

The asshole performed all eight minutes and forty seconds of the song for you and only you. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or plead with him to stop or shout for him to keep going. Quite certain you looked very much the epitome of shock, it was all you could do to keep your mouth from flapping like a fish out of water.

When the last note faded, he hopped down off the table and took off the sunglasses, tossing them onto your shut laptop. A huge grin, more unctuous than you’d ever seen, adorned his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Like I said. It’s a masterpiece,” he said, his voice lowered so as not to carry, as if he hadn’t even left the conversation that ended _hours_ ago. He leaned down, coming eye-to-eye with you in the chair, bracing himself with his hands on the arm rests. “And if you _ever_ mention this to Sam, I will make sure you regret it with every ounce of your being.” You could only stare at him, wide-eyed and speechless, your noses barely a centimeter apart. “Understood?”

“Y-ye-yeah, yep,” you forced yourself to nod because you really weren’t sure if you’d said anything aloud. Your voice sounded so utterly foreign in the thick quietness of the bunker.

“Good.” Dean smiled widely at you again and then added insult to injury – he kissed your lips for longer than you would have liked, but also somehow shorter than you would have liked. And as if he just went around giving you private shows and kissing you on the regular, he strolled out of the library without a care in the world.

**

“You were up pretty late last night,” Sam casually dropped the next morning when you trudged into the kitchen, late for breakfast as always. The guys were used to only sleeping four to six hours at a time, but you really didn’t operate at more than fifty percent without at least six. So when you got _finally_ got to sleep around four in the morning, it didn’t surprise you that the guys were already up and about three hours later. Thankfully, they’d saved you some food; most days, they’d point you in the direction of the cereal and milk while your stomach grumbled for hot eggs and bacon.

“Wh-what?” Your eyes went wide when Sam’s words hit you like a sledgehammer and your gaze immediately landed on Dean, who was reading the paper and didn’t even flinch.

“You stayed up pretty late, judging by the Prince I heard sometime around two-thirty; I was just surprised to see you up so early,” Sam shrugged. “You feeling okay? You look a little flushed.” He stood up and closed the distance between you, putting the back of his hand on your forehead. “Huh.”

“I-I’m fine,” you lied. Your mind was replaying Dean’s _Purple Rain_ performance and you really hated how much it changed how you saw him. Especially that fucking _kiss_ , the bastard. Dean finally glanced up at you and Sam, his brows furrowing a bit.

“You sure? You do seem a little off,” Dean commented.

You swallowed a comment about _him_ being a little _off his rocker_ last night and merely let an eyebrow twitch in his direction. “I’m sure whatever it is will pass.”

Sam gave you another concerned look before he sat back down. “Okay. Well, if you need anything, let us know.”

Dean hid his smarmy fucking face behind the paper and mouthed, “Purple rain, purple rain,” which made your cheeks flush. Oh, he got you back for laughing at him and _then some_.

You shuffled over to the island and picked up the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, and shoved it into the microwave. “Oh, uh, hey, Dean?”

“Mm,” he didn’t even turn towards you, he just raised his coffee to his lips and sipped.

“Have you seen my sequined top anywhere? You know, that silver one I have? I can’t find it.”

 _Sputter, cough, choke_. You bit back a smirk. “What? No, why would I have seen it?”

“You did laundry last,” you said, lying easily, and shrugging. He’d whipped around in his seat and was staring at you, now. You met his challenging gaze until Sam spoke up.

“Actually, I saw it in the laundry room this morning. You must’ve left it there.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he discreetly gestured that he’d be watching you, while shaking his head slowly. You perked up as the microwave beeped and genuinely smiled. “Thanks, Sam! I’ll grab it after breakfast.”

Not much escaped Sam’s observant nature, which meant neither did the stare down between you and Dean. He filed that away in his brain to bring up at a later date; it wasn’t unusual for you and Dean to act completely weird around each other. Sometimes, you wondered if _he_ wondered when you guys were gonna go to the bone zone.

“Blech,” you shuddered as you sat next to Dean, not meaning to vocalize your disgust at the thought of seeing Dean as anything more than a friend, brother, and colleague.

Sam gave you a puzzled look before he glanced to Dean, who shifted on his seat but didn’t look up from the paper.

Under the table, Dean’s thigh nudged yours and he didn’t pull it away, apologize, or otherwise act as if it’d even happened. You moved your leg away from his and he just shifted to press his thigh against yours again. And now you were stuck, because if you moved much more, Sam would know something was up. So, you inhaled your breakfast and grabbed your coffee as soon as you’d cleaned your plate in the sink, and went into the library to scheme.

The Prank Wars were back after months of an unspoken truce.

And Dean Winchester would be sorry for fucking with you.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely left this open for later additions... so rated T+ for now, may change to a hard M or E later.


End file.
